


The Undone & The Divine

by viagiordano



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Adult Content, Character Study, F/F, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 08:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16488851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viagiordano/pseuds/viagiordano
Summary: "You looked at her for a while before you pulled the book closer to you; she didn't seem afraid of you, and by that, she earned herself a tiny fraction of your respect."A giftwork for alicekittridge:The Fall (Look What You've Done)from Oksana's perspective.





	The Undone & The Divine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alicekittridge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicekittridge/gifts).



> This is a work which has been in progress for months and months. As I'm a huge fan of _The Fall_ , I decided--with alicekittridge's permission and encouragement of course--to have a go at pre-prison Oksana, and her relationship with Anna Leonova. 
> 
> In the series, Oksana's birth year is stated as 1993, and she's arrested in 2011, so in this fic, she's 18 years old. Me writing this piece is by no means a sanction of teacher/student relationships; on the contrary, but since Anna apparently played such a huge role in Oksana's life--both in the books and in the series--their relationship is something worth exploring, I think. Thanks in advance for reading!

_"It was you."_

The corners of your mouth twitch as you study her incredulous expression, her resentment, her genuine surprise at the audacity of you pinning the fault on her, and not on yourself. But she shouldn't be surprised, not after everything that'd happened between you two, after everything—everything—you'd done to her. Of course it'd been _you_. Of course it'd come only _naturally_ to you. Of course you'd set out to get her, to bewitch her, to make her as _obsessed_ with you as you'd been with her. And of course you'd _succeeded._ "Fine", you sigh, "but can you blame me?" It's as much a rhetorical question for the universe as it is a question for the terribly annoying girl to your left, the girl who's following your Mexican stand off with wide eyes. Oh, what would she know of such things? What would she know of feeling possessed, feeling like someone else's breath is the very air you need in order to survive, to stay alive?

No. No one could blame you for what you'd done; no one would dare, if they'd ever felt a _fraction_ of what you'd felt for Anna, if they'd ever laid awake at night, tormented by pure need, by raw thirst which you'd felt so vividly, you'd thought you'd crumble to pieces and die. No one could blame you, if they knew.

You knew. You _still_ know. You'd felt every bit of it. 

-

_(2011)_

It was a cold and rainy day, like most days, when you arrived at your new school in the Industrialny District of Perm. After a long and dreadful conversation, which was mostly silent on your part, you disclosed your interest for languages, and the school principal, Mrs. Ivanov, marched you through several long corridors, until the two of you ended up outside a classroom, the chatter and loud voices of the students inside audible even through the closed door. She knocked, and you entered, immediately feeling the intensity of twenty pairs of hesitant eyes on you.

"Sorry, Mrs. Leonova", the principal said, and your own eyes sought out the person she was apologizing to; the woman in front of the class. Dark brown hair, kind eyes, professional. She greeted you, her voice earnest, but you looked away, scanned the class room for an empty seat, and found one which was, luckily, far away from everyone else. Mrs. Ivanov explained what you were doing there, told everyone your name, and then she was gone, probably relieved to get rid of you; she'd looked at you rather suspiciously, her whole posture tense since the moment you met, but this teacher, Mrs. Leonova, was clearly not informed about you; she was relaxed, welcoming, told you to sit where you wanted, and you made a beeline for the seat which you'd already decided was yours, ignoring the hushed whispers that followed you.

You dug out your textbook and your notebook, but let them be, still weighted down by being shuffled around for the hundredth time, always moved, never able to make any place feel like yours. You were deep in thought when Mrs. Leonova came up to you, brown eyes soft, like her voice. "Is there a language you’re interested in, Oksana?" she asked. "Or one you already know aside from your native language?"

You felt her trying to catch your eyes, to get you to look at her, but you didn't feel like making that kind of contact. You knew small bits of many different languages by now, could speak English rather well, and some conversational German, but wanted the most to become fluent in French, so that one day you could get the hell out of Moscow, and find a place you could call home. "I'm interested in all of them", you said, and she called you ambitious, but thankfully, not in a mocking tone. She pressed you, asked about your favourite, and so, you told her.

"Lucky for you, that's the one we're learning", she smiled at your admission. "How much do you know?"

Not enough, you thought. "Tiny bits." You looked around the class; everyone was already paired off. "Do I have to work with someone?" you sighed, hoping for a "no", hoping she was smart enough to read you, to realize you wanted to be left alone.

She was. "Not today. Why don't you give it a little try? Page 17." You heard her, but you didn't move, still uncomfortable and skeptical, so she reached for _your_ book and opened it, made you turn your eyes towards her, made you glare at her, but she didn't apologize, didn't back down; she kept smiling, met your judgmental stare, and rested her hand on the opened page for a moment before she walked off and began helping the other students.

You looked at her for a while before you pulled the book closer to you; she didn't seem afraid of you, and by that, she earned herself a tiny fraction of your respect.


End file.
